Humbert Humbert Krycek: the doubleagent revealed
by ExHxK
Summary: In the 1970's on April Air Force Base, a young John Arntzen a.k.a. Alex Krycek is being raised by his uncle. He encounters a young Samantha Mulder and the two indulge in a tragic adolescent romance. COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

Preview:

This X-Files fanfiction is written as a short-story with the purpose of creating a past for Alex Krycek... it is an origin story. This is an unoffical story of coarse, but it was written in continuity with The X-Files. It explains both the origin of both Krycek and his name.

Two X-Files episodes are the basis for this story, that being "Sein Und Zeit" and "Closure". However, this does tie in with the entire mytharc. There will be a lot of references to the series, a lot of irony that ties in with the series, and some unanswered questions will be cleared up.

This is a sci-fi, a romance, a drama, an action, and even a horror.

The following characters have roles in the story -

John Arntzen (Alex Krycek)

Samantha Mulder

Cigarette-Smoking Man

Deep Throat

X

Jeffrey Spender

Vassily Peskow

The Hispanic Man AKA Luis Cardinal

R Rated.

Copyright © 2005 by ExHxK

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any of the rights to characters registered to Ten Thirteen Productions. In no way am I affiliated or related to Ten Thirteen or their registered trade marks. I do however, own the rights to all the characters which I created; which are not registered to Ten Thirteen. None the less, this story is for non profit purposes only.

Please ignore part one if you don't like it... it gets better and easier to follow!

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**Humbert Humbert Krycek**

**By Erich H. Krycek**

He was a child with the potential to achieve the biggest of hopes and

dreams. All potential can be broken.

**Part 1: The unraveling of a destiny**

His father had great responsibility. In the former Soviet Union, his

father was part of a secret agenda to develop a vaccine against a

serious virus. The virus was so serious that his father's main job was

to keep its existence secret from the public and the most highest Soviet

political leaders.

The 'Soviet Syndicate' was the only name his father's group went by. When

an order came from above to stop support and funding to this group, the

Syndicate's motive was to assassinate the source of this command; a

politician. It was war within a nation.

His father was chosen to execute the assassination. It was a success. The

Soviet Syndicate succeeded, but his father was caught in the act. His

father was now a fugitive on the run. His father's wife was pregnant

during the escape. They crossed the border together.

His parents had a whole army after them. The entire Soviet Union had

outcast them. They eventually found his parents, and they were able to

kill his father. His mother's brother helped her to escape. Then she

went into labor.

His birth name was John Arntzen, son of Alex Arntzen. Born on October 13th, 1962, he was given his father's name, Alex, as a middle name. During the aftermath of the birth, the mother supposedly died. John's uncle speculated that she had been murdered. For whatever reason, John was allowed to live. His mother's brother stayed with him and raised him.

Unaware of the Arntzen's true agenda, the U.S.A. adopted them into their

country as cold war immigrants, and betrayers of the Soviets. They were

given diplomatic immunity in the hopes of another Syndicate to turn them

into allies.

John's uncle, Mr. Peskow, had no where else to turn. The Soviet Syndicate had abandoned him and his family in fear of exposure. The only man who supported the Arntzens and Mr. Peskow was his brother, Vassily Peskow.

The UN's Syndicate knew of the secrets John's uncle knew. They recruited him as a friend. He was allowed to raise his nephew on a military location where he worked - the April Air Force Base in California.


	2. Part 2

**Part 2: The wonder years**

Growing up on the Air Force Base was a difficult childhood for John Alex

Arntzen. It was hard to make friends, and his uncle was often away. When

he wasn't away at private school, he would often watch TV or shoot guns

out at a shooting range. He also loved playing in the forests, or on the

fields, watching the aircrafts take off.

The days on the Air Force Base were hot and exposed. If you were

outside, it always felt like you were being watched. All the military

personal around invited no privacy. However, the nights were dark and

deserted... almost haunted.

John never had many material possessions, not even toys. He mainly cherished a watch that was said to have been his father's, and a necklace which had belonged to his mother. The necklace was of a cross. John knew what it meant... a religious symbol. He wore it all the time and tried to hold his mother's faith by attending church as much as possible.

One time when he was nine years old, John snuck into his uncle's

basement... he was always a snoop. He stumbled upon an old diary which

had belonged to his father. He read most of it, and discovered that his

father was a killer. His father's name, "Alex", became a sketchy name to

him, for that of a murderer. His hopes were that the goodness of his

name, "John", would surpass the evil of his father's. John made it a

habit to never condone murder, even though his father seemed to have his

reasons.

Having a knack for getting into trouble, and it being common for his

uncle to be abusive towards him when he acted mischievous, John quickly

read everything he could in the diary and then he split. He left it

there, and ditched as soon as possible. His uncle was asleep, and there

would be hell to pay if he was caught. John never mentioned what he had

read, not to anyone. He always thought about it, but never acted like he

knew anything.

Another time when John was outside late at night exploring the base, he saw a mysterious light moving in the sky. He believed it was a UFO, but his uncle told him that it was a top secret experimental aircraft which they are not allowed to speak of off-base. He didn't believe his uncle. He knew his uncle's work probably had something to do with it. After this, he became fascinated with stories about aliens and UFOs.

As puberty approached, and even with his teens around the corner, John

never had a love life. He never had many friends, and was never a good

student. He never knew many girls seeing as he was rarely allowed off

base. His uncle told him that he would likely be a soldier when he's

older. Sometimes it felt like his emotions and wants didn't matter.


	3. Part 3

**Part 3: An unfatherly chain-smoker **

In 1978, when he was sixteen years old, John was given a job to paint

the fence of one of his next door neighbor's. He was told by his uncle

that Mr. Spender would pay him to do it. John didn't like Mr. Spender,

but he figured that painting his fence was worth it for the money.

Mr. Spender was often rude and cruel, and didn't like strangers on his

property. John could always tell that he kept secrets. He hoped that he

wouldn't have to spend much time talking to Mr. Spender, or smell the

constant odor of cigarettes. Mr. Spender was a chain-smoker.

John was sweating bullets painting the fence out in the hot sun. However, as always he was determined to get the job done, and he did. As he packed up his materials in Mr. Spender's back yard, he heard a voice over his shoulder.

"Who are you?" the voice asked.

It was evident that the voice belonged to that of a young girl. The

beautiful, soothing sound of it didn't startle him.

John turned around and saw the girl standing behind him. She herself was

beautiful, with a darling smile and long, black hair. John blushed at

the sight of her and tried to hide it. He knew she saw.

"I'm John," he replied to her. "Are you... are you Mr. Spender's daughter?"

"No," she said.

Suddenly her excited mood seemed to drop. That caught John's attention.

She seemed deeply tormented, like something was more than wrong. He

wanted to help. He already liked her, even though she was considerably

younger.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nu-Nothing," she stuttered. "I don't like Mr. Spender. He keeps me

here. I'm not his daughter. He barely lets me outside. I was hoping you

could keep me company... I never get to talk to anyone."

"Sure," he told her. "But if you're not Mr. Spender's daughter, who are

you?"

"I don't even know," she said. "He took me here a long time ago. The

military wants me. They stole my memories. I don't even remember my

last name and I just want a friend."

John smiled. He wanted to help this poor, lovely girl. She was an immediate mystery to him. He had never seen her before.

John wanted to find out what Mr. Spender and all his secrets were responsible for. Was the military even more corrupt than the United States government, the same government that covered up Roswell? Was his uncle involved in this?

"I'm finished my work," he exclaimed. "Let's go on a walk then."

The two walked together down the street, on a pathway where they could

not be seen. John was attracted to her, there was no lying to himself

about that. Maybe that's how she got his attention, or maybe he also

wanted to find out her story.

As they walked, Samantha told him that Mr. Spender was using her for

some kind of test. She said that she had memories of a life with her

real family and being taken from them by aliens. She said that they

returned her to Mr. Spender, who ordered the tests on her.

John didn't know how to make sense of any of this. Could he believe her?

She seemed so sincere and honest, but also scared and possibly confused.

She was definitely out of place. But her stories nearly jerked tears in

his eyes. He cared for her. Her recollections spoke to him with intense

feeling.

"You kind of remind me of someone that I remember from my past," she

told him. "My brother. I don't remember his name, only his face. Your brown

hair looks like his."

"What all did that Cigarette-Smoking bastard do to you?" he asked as

they walked along.

"They do tests on me," she began. "Tests all over my body. They leave

scars on me and sometimes I feel ugly."

John stopped walking. She stopped also. John got up the guts to tell her

what he thought of her.

"You're beautiful," he declared. "You could never be ugly. I don't see

no scars."

The two both continued to stand there, staring into each other's eyes.

This time they both blushed, both trying to think up a way to cut the

tension.

"You look like a rat," she teased. "A cute one."

She smiled at him. He smiled back.

"I know some Russian," he began. "That's where my parents came from.

Over there, we call a rat a 'Krycek'."

"What an idiotic thing to say," John thought to himself. "Trying to

impress this girl with another language." But Samantha liked his sense

of humor, and they continued to walk. They were both interested in

each other.

The two of them came to a tree on the outskirts of the base, and they

sat down under it. Both of them finally had someone to discuss life

with.

"I like you," Samantha proclaimed to John.

"How old are you?" John responded.

"I'm thirteen," she said.

"Well, I'm sixteen," he professed. "I like you a lot too, but we should

probably just be friends. I'm too much older than you."

There was a pause. Both of them knew why they were there, together. They had so much in common, but John was afraid of Mr. Spender.

"I like you too," stated John. "I won't lie to you. But I don't think Mr. Spender would ever allow it."

"Please don't let me be alone anymore!" she begged. "I just wanna have someone to care about my emotions and wants. Nobody cares. Nobody!"

Then she started crying. She broke down there, in front of John. What he wanted to tell her, what he HAD to tell her, was that he understands her.

Right there under the tree, John put his hands on Samantha's face and dried her tears. His tears came out as well.

"Alright, Alright," he said, calming her.

Samantha hugged John tightly. He held her back. They sat there under the tree, watching the sun go down. After something like forever seemed to have passed, he walked her back home. John agreed to see her again tomorrow. She gave him a kiss on the lips, and they said goodnight.


	4. Part 4

**Part 4: Wanting to believe **

John had agreed to be more than just friends with this girl he had just meant. When they both thought about it, the age difference didn't matter. It was only three years.

A few weeks passed, and they got to know each other more and more. They kissed and played with each other a lot, usually hanging out underneath that same tree.

However little John was able to help Samantha with her problems, it was clear to him that he was falling in love with her. He was able to listen to her problems and comfort her, even though he could do nothing to give her a better life, or expose those who did this to her. Nobody would believe him.

What John didn't know was that Samantha was also falling in love with him. He gave her the comfort and attention she had only experienced in her imagination and dreams. She never had anything else. No love.

"I am so lucky to have found you," she told him one day under the tree. "Mr. Spender has taken a break from the tests on me, for whatever reason. He finally let me go outside, and I found you. I don't know how long he'll give me freedom though. He could take me away at any time."

"Maybe there's a way I can protect you," he tried assuring her. "I don't want anything bad to ever happen to you again."

"John, you have to understand how big this is," she began. "Nobody can help me. It's the aliens. I'm glad to have found you, but you have to know that it won't last forever. The aliens will abduct me again at any time."

Samantha's stories of alien abduction always made John shutter. He didn't want them to be true.

"Do you believe me?" she asked. "About the aliens?"

"I wanna believe," he told her.

"So you don't believe me?" she demanded. "I need your trust!"

John took Samantha's hand. He held it tightly. It gave her a kind of assurance.

"I believe that some very bad things have happened to you," he stated. "I am open to the truth, but I don't want the aliens you talk about to be real."

Samantha stood up in a hurry. John didn't know what she was doing. She was in a panic, and it frightened him. Her emotional mood swings saddened him.

Startling him even more, Samantha removed her shirt from the dress she was wearing. Underneath, she had on only a small bra.

Samantha pointed to a few very noticeable scars. Her body had obviously been experimented on. It haunted John, but to him, she didn't look any less beautiful.

One of the scars on her body was a lump. Underneath the lump, there was some kind of grayish color. There appeared to be some kind of metal underneath.

"Look at this!" she screamed, more desperate than ever. "The aliens put implants inside of my body!"

John took a look. He was shocked.

"My God," he exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like this."

"So do you believe me?" she asked.

"Yes, I believe you," he said. "Don't you worry. I'll help you and I'll love you. God allowed you to find me for a reason."

John helped Samantha back into her dress. The girl was in tears, and John could tell that she regretted him seeing the scar.

"You're still beautiful," he told her. "Just as pretty as before. They're just little scars and are barely visible. Something fucked up is going on in America... I believe you that they did this, and we'll make those responsible pay."

Samantha was in distress more than ever, but just like every other night, John walked her home. At the doorstep, she kissed him goodbye. After walking through the screen door, Samantha disappeared into darkness. The lights were out.

Out of the darkness came a shadow. It wasn't Samantha. It was a man. John couldn't make out the face but he had a sure feeling of who it was. He heard the click of a lighter, and the man's face lit up with a cigarette in the mouth. The man was Mr. Spender, Samantha's "watcher".

"You're a little pig," snarled Mr. Spender. His voice echoed through the screen of the door.

John knew that Mr. Spender knew that something was going on between he and Samantha. He also knew that Mr. Spender probably had a clue of what Samantha told him and showed him.

John ignored Mr. Spender's snide remark and walked away. He didn't like being treated as a bad guy.

As he walked away, he knew that Mr. Spender was still watching him, dragging off his cigarette. His hatred for Mr. Spender was now more than more intense than ever. He made a vow never to smoke.

Later that night, an associate of Mr. Spender's met with him in his house. The associates name was Ronald, and he was around Mr. Spender's age. In the future, Ronald would later be known only as "Deep Throat". However, in 1978, he also lived near the April Air Force Base.

Ronald met with Mr. Spender in his room. Mr. Spender sat there watching television, smoking, and drinking. He had a drinking problem as well as a cocaine problem which he liked to keep hidden.

Ronald walked into the room. He knew Mr. Spender knew he was there, but he didn't bother to turn around from his chair. There in that ordinary room, they were to discuss their plans and progress of a serious and on-going project which teared their families apart.

"You don't look well," Ronald told Mr. Spender. "You still have a drug problem?"

"Yes," he admitted, turning around from his seat. His cigarette was still in his mouth.

"That can't be good for your psychosis," sneered Ronald. The two men hated each other.

"It's stressful business we have," snapped Mr. Spender. "I need something to get my mind off it. Now why did you call this meeting with me?"

"You told our Elder of the problem this John Arntzen poses to us," he stated. "I want to know what you're going to do about it?"

"He proposes no problem-," began Mr. Spender. Ronald cut him off.

"No problem?" he shouted. "He may be just a boy but I hear that Bill Mulder's daughter, Samantha, may have leaked him some classified information. He must be eliminated! Only you could be stupid enough to let her out in the open to expose us!"

Mr. Spender rose out of his seat and took a shot of whiskey. The mood in the room had changed from intense to intensely dramatic.

Mr. Spender smiled at Ronald. Both of them looked at each other as inferior. Past events had sparked their abhorrence of each other and their work.

"You presume to dictate duty to me?" snarled Mr. Spender. "Speaking of Bill Mulder, you and he both have one thing in common - both of you betrayed me. The both of you refused to give up one of your children to our invaders. However, you were smarter than he was. You hid your children so they could not find them, yet they found Bill Mulder's daughter just fine. You're lucky that I don't tell them where your children are."

Ronald stayed silent. His fears of his children's safety were too painful to speak of.

"Mr. Peskow's nephew can be broken," declared Mr. Spender. "... His spirit at least. If not, there are always other ways."

"How do you plan to do that?" asked Ronald.

"We must take away what he holds most valuable," he stated. "...That with which he cannot live without."


	5. Part 5

**Part 5: A Romeo & Juliet story**

The next day, John Arntzen waited to hear from Samantha. Evening came with no word from her, and he worried. Then the phone rang. He picked up. It was Samantha. The two had traded phone numbers because they felt that there was no longer a point in keeping their relationship a secret from his uncle and Mr. Spender.

Samantha sounded agitated on the phone. Something was wrong. She told John to meet with her right away. He left the house immediately, dodging his uncle who was shouting at him to stay for supper.

John and Samantha met in distress on a field near the base. Samantha was forced to bring Jeffrey with her. Jeffrey was Mr. Spender's son. He was nine-years old and annoying. Many times when Samantha left the house, she was forced to bring him with her. John hated him.

After telling Jeffrey to sit and wait on the field, Samantha and John wondered off into the distance where they could not be seen. They sat down on the grass, under the very tree where they had first talked. The sun was just setting. It was a beautiful, but fading sight, which reflected their dying love. Samantha took John's hand. She had something urgent to tell him.

"Jeffrey may have been told by his father to tell him everything we do," she said.

"He can't hear us over here," he assured. "Don't worry about him. What's the matter?"

Samantha leaned forward and gave John a passionate kiss. She looked as if the world was ending.

"They took me again last night!" she yelped. "They returned me here later on. I don't know why they did. But I sense that they are going to take me again very soon... for good this time. We don't have very much longer together."

Tears ran down from Samantha's face. The girl was so afraid, and John could do nothing to help her. Is all he could do was love her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "What makes you so sure that they're going to take you for good?"

"Mr. Spender sees you as a threat," she replied. "He knows what I've told you. He's only letting us have a few more hours alone together. He thinks that when I'm gone, your heart will be too broken to harm him."

"How do you know all this?" John asked.

"I just know," she declared.

Then the two wept bitterly together like never before. Both their hearts had been broken.

"If he takes you again, I'll kill him!" threatened John.

Samantha brushed John's words of anger off. It didn't make any difference to her. She hated Mr. Spender and wanted him to die, but with all the pain in her heart she had no room for revenge. She was going to be taken once and for all, and be tortured for what would feel like an eternity... until she died. Being alone, longing for her lover, John, was not something that she wanted to feel either.

"Come with me," she told John.

Samantha stood up and held onto John's hand. He stood up with her.

"We don't have much time," she repeated. "I want you to come with me back to the house. There we can seal our love so it lasts forever."

John and Samantha marched back to the house where Mr. Spender had allowed her to be continuously taken from and abused. Jeffrey Spender tagged a long behind them.

When they reached the house, everything was quiet. Night was approaching and there was only a bit of light left. Mr. Spender had not come home from work yet... wherever it was that he worked during the day.

Outside the house was a side-walk that had been freshly laid with concrete. The concrete had not dried yet. It was Samantha's idea for her and John to lay their hand prints there so that some part of them would always exist together. In Samantha's hand print, John drew a heart, and in John's hand print, Samantha drew a heart. They also allowed Jeffrey to lay his hand print down beside theirs.

After this, the three of them went inside. Mr. Spender was still not home. Samantha and John tucked Jeffrey into bed, and then they went into the room that had been given to Samantha. They lied down on her bed, and John put his arms around her.

"We can't stay here long," John said. "They'll take you again. I gotta protect you... we gotta do something."

"There's no stopping it," replied Samantha. "They'll find me no matter what. We can't escape Mr. Spender. I just want to lay here with you, in your arms."

"I love you," cried John.

"I love you too," she cried back. "I love you so much. You're the only person who ever cared about me, at least that I can remember. I still don't even know my own last name. I'm just a slave."

"You're a princess," he assured her. "... A queen. Never forget how much I love you. Forever, and ever, and ever."

There the two of them lay, with their arms around one another. Hours and hours passed, and they fell asleep.

When John awoke, Samantha was gone. He didn't know whether she had ran away or whether she had been taken. He was asleep the whole time, with his arms around her. It didn't make any sense.

He searched around her room for any clue as to where she went. A note perhaps? Maybe a revelation or document explaining where she may have been taken?

John searched through the drawers on a small desk in her room. He found nothing in them, except for a small diary which she had not even begun to write in yet.

In an angry panic, John left the room, leaving the unused diary on her table. He walked through the hallway, where everything looked in place and well-kept. He passed Jeffrey's room, where he was still tucked in and asleep.

John glanced down to the living room. Mr. Spender was home, sitting on the sofa drinking, and smoking as usual. John took notice of Mr. Spender lifting some kind of vile up to his nose and snorting it.

Mr. Spender did not notice John behind him. John took a step back, and a moment to improvise. He wanted to find a weapon to threaten Mr. Spender with.

Sneakily, and quietly, John rummaged through the house. He took a walk into Mr. Spender's room, and searched through his drawers. In one of them he found a hand gun. He didn't bother to check to see if it was loaded, but he took it and marched back over to the living room where Mr. Spender was still seated.

Like a soldier, John calmly approached Mr. Spender with the gun in hand. He jumped in front of him, pointing the gun in his face, then ripping the cigarette out of his mouth.

"You're a fucking drug-addict!" yelled John. "You're a coke-head... you're crazy! And now I'm going to kill you!"

Mr. Spender stayed calm. He smirked at John, and then lit another cigarette.

"You're lucky I didn't kill you," he muttered. "I saw you sleeping in Samantha's room. I could have removed you... but I didn't feel you were worth it. I know you won't kill me, John. I know your uncle quite well actually, and I know a bit about your family's history. You won't let yourself be a killer like your father. Never. So put down the gun, and let's talk."

Mr. Spender put his hands over John's, lowering the gun. John became calm and he put the gun in the pocket of his jeans. Mr. Spender was clever. He reminded John of why he could never kill.

"I won't kill you," he admitted. "But I'm going to report you to the police."

Mr. Spender laughed, taking another drag off his smoke. John knew that what he had said was indeed a joke. There was nothing he could do... not if he couldn't kill Mr. Spender.

"Report anything, and I'll ruin you," Mr. Spender said. "I'm with the military, the CIA, the FBI, and the police. I own this country. If you try exposing me, you'll die. I could kill you, or even your uncle if I was forced to go far enough."

"You killed her, didn't you?" asked John.

"No," declared the Smoking-Man. "Samantha stands to live forever. She is part of a test that will ensure the survival of all mankind. Don't think that I'm happy about what I have to allow to happen to her... or my own wife."

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"They took her," Mr. Spender declared.

"Who?" John asked again.

"I'm sure she enlightened you of who," he stammered. "You will see her again one day... as will her family. Just don't expect it to be any time soon."

Mr. Spender arose from his seat and put his cigarette out in the ash tray, immediately lighting another one. John was thinking deeply, and he fell back into a chair across from the couch.

"Can I offer you a cigarette?" asked Mr. Spender, offering one out of his pack.

"I'll never touch 'em," muttered John.

"Then at least come work for me," he offered. "I can give you all the answers you dream of, and one day I can reunite you with Samantha."

"I won't work for you, you idiot," insisted John. "You've stolen from me the only person who I ever truly loved. You've threatened me, and my uncle. I'd like to go home now."

John got out of his seat, and took Mr. Spender's gun out of his pocket. He put it on the coffee table where Mr. Spender's coke-supply lay. Then John moved towards the front door.

"Don't dare mention any of this to anybody!" Mr. Spender warned. "Take that into consideration for your sake, and for Samantha's. I'm sure she looks forward to seeing you again."

"Fuck you!" John yelled. Then he left, back for home.

Months passed, and a broken-hearted John Arntzen was still in heartache over his lost love. He noticed the windows of what was once Samantha's room boarded up. He'd often pass the house, wondering if Samantha may be in there... maybe being experimented on.

He'd see Mr. Spender from time to time, but never bothered to talk to him or ask about Samantha. He knew that he would get nothing... no answers. There was no point in even speaking to Mr. Spender's son when he would see him playing out side. The boy could not give him anything either.

John was now in a deep depression... in longing for his young, lost love... the girl who's last name he never even knew.


	6. Part 6

**Part 6: Temporary closure**

Two full years passed. John's uncle had died from cancer. He continued to live in his uncle's house, supporting himself by running odd errands for the military.

He was now eighteen years old, and still haunted by the disappearance of Samantha. His depression caused him to become some what of an alcoholic. He was now a man, but broken and more alone than ever.

He'd often see young girls around. They'd remind him of his lost love.

One night, John received a strange phone call from a man who chose to be anonymous. The man on the phone told him to meet with him in the forest near the base, saying that he had information about Samantha.

The man on the phone was Mr. Spender's associate, Ronald. Ronald would be known to John only as 'Deep Throat'.

John met with Ronald AKA Deep Throat in the forest as he told him to. He was in great hopes of finding out information about the girl he loved. What the two men didn't know when they met was that they were being spied on by one of Mr. Spender's informants, known only as 'X'.

John approached Deep Throat in the forest. It was late at night, and they had no idea that they were being watched. The only sound that could be heard were the buzzing of crickets.

"I'm betraying that Smoking sonuvabitch by coming to you," yelled Deep Throat over to John. "But I hate the man, and I feel that you deserve closure about your lost love."

"What do you know about her?" John demanded.

"I once petitioned to have you killed," he said, temporarily avoiding the question. "However, I know now that you are no threat to the project I work for. The penalties of my meeting with you could be quite high, remember that."

"What do you know?" John asked again.

"After Samantha was taken from you, the Smoking-Man continued to do tests on her," he stated. "The Smoking-Man isolated her from all contact with everyone. He continued to rob her of her memories, including the false memories she told you of alien abduction."

"False memories?" John remarked. "I know those weren't false. You're a liar."

"I have no intention to prove otherwise," exclaimed Deep Throat.

John smiled at him. He didn't like the bluntness of this mysterious, shadowy man.

"Whateva," sneered John. "I know that you have many secrets to hide. You can hide all the secrets you want, but at least give me the truth about what you wanted to tell me."

"I can tell you this...," Deep Throat began. "As the torture of Samantha continued, and as she was robbed of all social contact, she eventually managed to run away. Some officials of a hospital picked her up and treated her nearby. They noted the scars on her body and listed her as a 'Jane Doe'. She was likely in shock, and refused to trust them with even her name. The Smoking-Man found out her location and went to pick her up. He believed that he had been forced to kill her for exposing our project... he's an insane drug-addict. However, he never found her. Nobody at the hospital knew where she went. She vanished without a trace."

"Nothing vanishes without a trace," John replied. "The aliens took her."

"No," stammered Deep Throat. "If she was out there, we would have heard about it. The Smoking-Man exhausted all avenues trying to locate her, but he never found her. The search for her has been called off. I'd bet a fine dollar that she'll never be seen or heard from again. She's dead. But I like to think that she was saved by the grace of God from the death the Smoking-Man would have inflicted on her."

"That doesn't make any sense!" cried John.

"Doesn't it?" asked Deep Throat. He pointed to the cross around John's neck.

"Surely you have faith that such a thing is possible," he continued. "She's safe from harm's way. That's all I have to say."

Deep Throat began to walk away. John was left unsatisfied.

"Wait!" John yelled. "Can you at least tell me what her last name was?"

Deep Throat turned around in his trench coat and faced John. The look on his pale face showed his paranoia and it was clear to John that this meeting had gone on too long for the informant's liking.

"Some names are better left unsaid," he replied, and then waved goodbye. Then he walked away.

John stood there, confused as always. What he didn't know was that Samantha was staring down at him from the stars; transported there in star-light by caring spirits who save young people from cruel, inevitable deaths.

John took Deep Throat's advice and held faith that God saved Samantha. However, that was not enough to save him from his self-abuse resulting from loneliness.


	7. Part 7

**Part 7: Aftermath; ... the making of a krycek**

As the weeks went on, John continued to sooth his pain with alcohol abuse. He met a friend on the military base who was also an alcoholic. He was a Hispanic man named Luis Cardinal.

Luis looked rough and had quite a bit of experience in the world. He was twenty-three years old, and told John of his stories in Mexico being involved in the drug trade. John was amused, but not in support, of Luis's stories of killing people on the harsh Latino streets.

Luis and John quickly became good 'drinking' friends. They hung out together almost everyday. John thought he could trust Luis. What he didn't know, was that Luis worked for Mr. Spender.

On one sunny afternoon--a day that would prove to be more tragically meaningful to John than any other--he and Luis went into the forest off base for a fun game of target practice. John was bored out of his mind, and wanted to have some fun shooting Luis' rifle off at the trees.

Both men walked to the forest together. Luis carried his rifle, and John carried a six-pack of lager in hand. They sat down in the forest and drank a few beers. John drank more than he anticipated.

"Let's get this show on the road," said Luis.

"Are you sure it's safe to shoot when we're drunk?" asked John, nervously.

"What are you, a pussy?" Luis commented. "We're in the middle of the fucking woods. Of coarse it's safe."

Luis always had a certain kind control over John. He was very demanding. John always felt the need to live up to him and impress him, kind of like how he used to have to live up to his uncle's expectations. Maybe Luis' power was a kind of imminent goal for John... a hope to hold onto when there was nothing else to look forward to.

The pair set up the rifle on its stand and got ready to shoot. John was as nervous as hell.

"You go first," he imposed.

"No," laughed Luis. "You said you'd go first. I'm gonna go and set one of these bottles down for you to shoot at. I wanna see how good you are, Johnny."

John gulped as Luis walked away, limping and tripping he was so drunk. An imperative nausea sunk in John's stomach. Something wasn't right.

Luis walked out of John's sight, at least fifty yards away. As John waited for his return, Luis came to a large oak tree which appeared to be dying. It had no leaves on it. On one of the branches, Luis set the beer bottle. There was no way John could hit it by aiming. He was barely experienced with a gun, let alone a rifle, and it was a stupid drunken idea. From where John was, he could not even see the beer bottle.

Luis glanced further down the forest, at the small lake. In the lake, two young girls played. They were somewhere around twelve years old. They didn't see Luis, but he saw them. He ignored them and walked back over to John as the birds chirped. The girls in the lake were diagonal with the tree where the target beer bottle sat.

"Shoot," Luis said over to John when he returned.

Luis stood over behind John. John positioned himself behind the rifle and got ready to pull the trigger. John was as scared as hell now; he didn't know what to aim for. He feared what the anger of the alcohol-fueled Luis would do if he didn't pull the trigger. So, he aimed in a straight line from where Luis came from. Without thinking, he pulled the trigger.

BAAAAAAAAAAAM! The gunshot rang out. The birds stopped chirping and fled.

Nothing was hit.

"Again!" ordered Luis.

BAAAAAAAAAANG! Another gunshot.

This time they heard a noise following the shot. It wasn't the sound of the glass breaking. It was a scream. One of the young girls'.

Both men looked at each other in horror.

"Oh no," said Luis.

"What?" asked John. "What is it?"

"Let's...," Luis began. "Let's get outta here."

"We can't go!" cried John. "I thought you said the area was secure!"

Luis ignored John and ran, leaving his rifle behind.

John stood there for a moment, in shock. He took a deep breath, and then ran towards the lake where the scream came from. He ran faster than he ever ran before.

When he came to the lake, out of breath, he saw a girl running away. He looked around. Then he saw the other girl laying on the ground. He went over to her, kneeling down beside her. Blood was pouring from the back of her head. He shot her. How he made the shot, he didn't know. It had to have been a coincidence. Luis was a liar... it wasn't safe at all.

John put his hands on the girl. She was still alive. Her long black hair was mixed with blood, dripping onto John's hands. The girl reminded him completely of Samantha. Even her face which had tears running from it.

John began to whimper and cry. His tears flowed onto the girl's face, mixing with her tears and blood.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to her.

Then the girl closed her eyes, and died in John's arms. He held her body close and cried some more.

Soaked in blood, John thought about what he had done. He felt like he had murdered Samantha. While that may not have been so, he was indeed a murderer.

With nothing to live for now, not even the hope of holding a good name, John left her body there and walked back home covered in blood. He went unnoticed walking back to his house covered in the blood of an innocent. No one saw him. Night was approaching.

The Air Force Base was surrounded by a fence. John snuck in through a hole in it which he and Samantha had sometimes snuck through.

When he got home, he took a shower and changed his clothing and put the bloody jeans and t-shirt into the garbage. Then he sat down and thought for hours. He couldn't stop crying.

He knew he had to report the accident. But there was no way he could face what he had done. He wrote a note, explaining the murder and confessing his actions. Then he gathered all the medication he had in his house, and took them to his bedroom.

He collapsed on his bed and overdosed on meds, attempting suicide. He blacked out, going out cold.

John woke up several times, severely groggy from the overdose. He continued to pump himself full of drugs, hoping die. He continuously passed out, having no recollection of the time that was passing. He didn't know how long he had been out cold. Maybe hours, maybe days.

He dreamed during his overdose. He had the same nightmare over and over again--about Samantha. He saw himself, shooting her over and over again, dying in his arms. After she was dead, she'd come to him as a ghost, asking why he murdered her.

Finally, John ran out of drugs to overdose on. His immune system became very weak, and he'd constantly wake up to puke, only to fall asleep again and have the same nightmare. His soul was in so much pain, as was his physical body. His stomach was polluted with drugs. It hurt so much that he almost thought about cutting it out of his body with scissors.

Possibly days later, he woke up feeling a little more lucid from the drugs leaving his system. He looked over at the door to his bedroom. It was open, with a shadow standing there. At first he thought he was hallucinating, but then he smelled the familiar smell. Standing at the entrance to his bedroom was the Smoking-Man, Mr. Spender.

"Get the hell out of here!" John yelled bitterly.

Mr. Spender just stood there, puffing away on his cigarette. John stared at him with intense hate.

"If you're not going to leave," he continued. "At least shoot me!"

John expected Mr. Spender to sarcastically smile at him, but he didn't. He didn't even acknowledge John's wish.

"You're not meant to die," spoke Mr. Spender. "I would have killed you before, but I've always known what a smart boy you are... smart AND strong. You're a powerful asset to me."

"You idiot!" yelled John. "Get out! Get out!"

"I know that you killed the young girl out in the forest," claimed Mr. Spender. "The ballistics from the bullet found in the girl match the rifle which belongs to your friend Luis. The rifle had fresh fingerprints on it. Yours actually. I know that it was an accident. A tragic accident. That was my good friend Ronald's daughter who you shot. However, no one will know about it. I've covered it up with a story about a lost hobo finding the gun and shooting the girl. That's the official story now."

"I don't care!" John exclaimed. "Leave me alone! I wanna die!"

Mr. Spender put out his cigarette on the floor and came over beside John on his bed. Like a father, he put his arms around him.

"Poor, poor John," he said. "It was an accident. It wasn't your fault. You can confess your actions to the police, but they won't believe you after how good I covered it up."

John didn't understand Mr. Spender's sudden sympathy. But he didn't care anymore. It didn't matter. He was so vulnerable now; willing to hear anything even if it didn't make sense.

"You can be forgiven," declared Mr. Spender.

"Forgiven?" laughed John. "There is no forgiveness. There is no truth. There is no faith, no hope. Fuck it all. And fuck this thing!"

John ripped his mother's cross off his neck and threw it on the ground. Then he got up and stomped on it.

"I am a murderer like my father!" he yelled. "I AM A RAT... A KRYCEK!"

Mr. Spender grabbed John by the hand, trying to sooth him. But that didn't quench John's anger or self-hatred.

"Whatever you may think of yourself," began Mr. Spender. "You can start over. I've salvaged you and saved your life. You will work for me now. And I can guarantee that you will discover that what you've done isn't nearly as bad as the things I've done. It's time to give up the alcohol. Only now have I made the decision to give up my cocaine habit."

"Yes, yes," said John. "Whatever. I don't care. I'll work for you. I'm already a murderer as it is. I may as well do something to save the world like you claim to have the power to do."

Mr. Spender let go of John's hand and patted him on the back. Then he walked to the door and paused there. He turned around to John, lighting another cigarette.

"You can start over with a new life and a new name," Mr. Spender reminded him. "Any alias you choose is yours. Take some time, and then come see me at my house. Jeffrey is anxious to see you again."

John stayed quiet. He didn't care about anything.

"Can I offer you a cigarette?" Mr. Spender asked as he did once before.

"No," answered John. "I'll still never touch them."

With that, Mr. Spender left. John sat down on his bed again, deep in thought. He still hated Mr. Spender, but had no choice but to work for him now. What else was there to do?

John still felt depressed and haunted. He felt like he betrayed Samantha, and that she could never love him now. He took some fresh concrete and went over to Mr. Spender's house. He covered his hand print with concrete, erasing it from existence. He also erased the heart he drew in Samantha's hand print, leaving only her and Jeffrey's hand prints behind.

To this very day, John Alex Arntzen has not forgot any of this. He thinks about it all the time... still tormented by ghosts from the past. He has begun a new life and taken a new identity, working for Mr. Spender. The name "John Arntzen" has seemingly been erased from all records. No history can be found for the first eighteen years of his life. Not even the most ambitious of investigators could ever find anything credible on who is now known as 'Alex Krycek'.

The End...


End file.
